


The Gift

by JokesterWrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Edward, Friendship, Nygmobblepot, The gift of a sweater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokesterWrites/pseuds/JokesterWrites
Summary: Edward receives a sweater in Arkham from a friend.





	

Edward stared at the thin rectangular box.

It had most likely been carefully wrapped. The paper under his fingertips felt expensive. It was thick paper, with silken ribbon wrapped across it and tied in a messy bow. He could tell it had been bundled back together without any thought. But he knew that all mail and packages were searched before being given to the inmates.

A card was slipped underneath the loose ribbon, the envelope already torn open. It too was thick, a creamy weighted stationary in his hands. He already knew without looking whose tidy elegant scrawl would be on the card. So he placed it aside, forgoing opening the note itself. Edward was surprised that they’d even bothered to toss this back together.

“Hurry up.” The guard that overlooked him muttered, glancing at the clock.

Edward hid a scowl.

These gifts were nervewracking. Penguin had been sending small things, care-packages if you will, for the last three months. Each was accompanied with a letter, innocent enough content but Edward could always read between the lines. Penguin was pouring himself into his words, thinly veiled as they were.

These gifts only made him jittery. Penguin was the kind of man to play a long game of chess, destroying you only in the last handful of moves. Edward felt like each parcel was one move closer to Penguin’s revenge for how Edward had treated him in their last encounter.

So he cautiously pulled at the ribbon. It was black, and slid away easily, pooling across the table. Edward allowed himself a indulgence. The silken feel between his fingers. A brief murderous thought arose…. The imagery of this very ribbon tightening around the guard’s throat until the man shuddered and collapsed.

It was quickly dashed.

The snowy white paper was pulled away, and Edward gave a quick grimace when it cut along his forefinger. Blood welled, dropping and staining against the pure white backdrop. What was left was a black box, a designer name faintly printed over the lid.

There was no doubt then.

Oswald was back in power. He had money. Excess funds at his command. The gifts prior had been simple. Boxes of biscuits, novels, and puzzle books.

This… well this was a very clear sign.

He carefully grasped the edges and pulled the lid away. Black tissue paper followed and Edward folded it back as well. Inside was nestled a sweater.

A dark emerald green. Edward’s favourite colour. He’d had something similar once when Oswald had stayed with him. Tentatively Edward stroked the fabric. It was so soft. Softer than his old wool sweater had been. Cashmere.

Edward swallowed the lump in his throat. Was this a threat? A gesture of goodwill? There were too many meanings potentially hidden in this innocent garment.

“Your friend has good taste.” The guard had come up beside him and was eyeing the sweater with greedy interest. Edward’s mouth tightened. “Too bad you can’t keep it.” The guard cackled and pulled the sweater from the box, roughly feeling the texture before tossing it over his arm. “All mine now. You can keep the paper for your crafts.”

Once again the image of the guard choking, fingers scratching over the silken ribbon that dug against his windpipe rose to Edward’s thoughts. Again, he pushed it aside. To take his mind off the gift and it’s underlying message, Edward began tearing the paper into small squares, turning each of them into origami animals before he settled on one shape. Penguin.

What did the man want from him?

Edward’s attention slid to the ignored letter. He had run out of paper, and even the silken ribbon had been twisted into a tiny useless noose. Taking a deep breath, Edward pulled the card from the envelope. Several sheets of paper were folded inside the card, Oswald’s fine script covering each with bold inky black certainty. He opened it within his hands, bracing himself to decipher. Dark eyes scanned over the first words. Oswald always began his letters this way.

“My dear friend… “


End file.
